<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Though I am Young and Cannot Tell by LeastExpected_Archivist</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688704">Though I am Young and Cannot Tell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist'>LeastExpected_Archivist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2002-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2002-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:48:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>by AC</p><p>Legolas discovers the source of Elrond's deep-seated grief and heals it as best he can from afar.</p><p>Part of the "Folly of Starlight" series.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elrond Peredhel/Legolas Greenleaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Least Expected</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Though I am Young and Cannot Tell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at <a href="http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected">Least Expected</a>, which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile">Least Expected collection profile</a>.</p><p>Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no harm meant.<br/>Feedback: Please! Comments are greatly appreciated.<br/>Story Notes: Sequel to "When Dream and Day Unite"<br/>See the end of the story for additional notes and explanations.<br/>Thanks to Faela Greenleaf for the beta read.<br/>Permission granted to archive wherever, so long as proper credit is given.<br/>Dedicated to the barrette that launched a thousand emails .</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Though I am young and cannot tell<br/>
Either what death or love is well,<br/>
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,<br/>
And both do aim at human hearts:<br/>
And then again, I have been told,<br/>
Love wounds with heat, as death with cold"</p>
<ul>
<li>Ben Jonson "Though I Am Young and Cannot Tell"</li>
</ul><p> </p>
<hr/><p>[Winter Solstice, Year 2713 of the Third Age of Middle-earth, the great cave palace of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood]</p><p>With well-trained precision, Glorfindel precisely smoothed the soft bandage into a comfortable yet snug fit, guaranteeing the expertly prepared medicine would remain in constant contact with the offended flesh. "There -- I am finished with you. Now it will properly heal." Carefully lowering the back of the prince's garb to cover the rear of his thighs, the Elvish healer removed the leftover herbs from the edge of the bed and set them on a small table nearby. "Let me help you get settled."</p><p>Legolas exhaled loudly, the disgust evident in his voice, low and dense like a valley's morning fog. "I will never be comfortable with my own stupidity." Wincing at the stiffness in his body and the sharp pain shooting through the back of his left thigh, he tried to provide some assistance as Glorfindel rolled him over onto his back, but felt as useless as he had all these past hours.</p><p>The forces of Mirkwood, strengthened by Elrond's unexpected and most welcomed contribution of Rivendell's best soldiers, had soundly routed the orc invasion without heavy losses, sending the remainder of the enemy fleeing south far beyond Thranduil's realm. It was in the celebratory confusion of victory's glory that Legolas had become distracted, careless, and had felt the icy heat of pain plunge through his upper leg, the last desperate sword thrust of a dying orc.</p><p>Free of poison's taint, the weapon had not inflicted a fatal wound, yet the shame the young prince had felt at being caught so easily seemed nearly incurable. Glorfindel had field-dressed the wound on the spot, and personally escorted the prince's makeshift litter as it returned to Thranduil's subterranean palace.</p><p>Now, these many hours later, Legolas was secure in his own bed, safe from his own carelessness, protected within the heavy rock walls of the only home he'd ever known. Why, then, did it suddenly, after all this time, feel as a veritable prison?</p><p>"Many thanks, Glorfindel," he murmured sadly, gingerly adjusting himself among the carefully positioned pillows.</p><p>The elder elf smiled warmly. "Keep off it for the night, and I will change the dressing in the morning. If you require anything, your father has stationed an aide outside the door for your comfort."</p><p>&lt;&lt;My father! He must think me the blindest of young fools.&gt;&gt; The sweet sound of merriment softly echoed through the winding stone passages beyond his private chamber, adding further lingering insult to his already painful physical injury. "Go join the true warriors, Glorfindel," Legolas sullenly suggested. "I promise I will not find further trouble."</p><p>Mildly amused at the prince's self-loathing, Glorfindel flashed the other a comforting smile. "Do not trouble yourself over this, Legolas. Do you believe that even the eldest among us are safe from mistakes and distractions?"</p><p>"Some distractions are more serious than others. One cannot afford to make too many mistakes on the battlefield, if one wishes to live long enough to become one of the eldest."</p><p>Nodding in agreement, Glorfindel found himself impressed with the younger elf's depth of understanding. "Then a lesson was learned. It is not a wasted experience, nor a wound received without cause, then."</p><p>"I would have rather learned the lesson without shedding my own blood, or my dignity," Legolas grumbled unhappily, picking at the layers of his soft woven bedclothes.</p><p>With an understanding smile, Glorfindel affectionately squeezed the prince's shoulder. "Sometimes we do not get that choice." He surveyed the heavy golden candelabra set upon the bedside table and noted with satisfaction that the candles would easily last the night. "Is there anything that I can get for you to make you more comfortable before I retire?"</p><p>Shrugging the blankets around himself, Legolas shook his head, then froze. "Yes, yes there is." Pointing across the room, he gestured toward an ornately carved oak chest set in the far corner. "Inside there is a book, hidden at the very bottom, under a cloak. Bring it to me."</p><p>Glorfindel did as was asked of him, fishing out the hefty volume from its hiding place and cradling it in his arms. With a bittersweet smile of recognition on his face, he proudly brushed his fingers over his handiwork as he turned to deliver it to its rightful owner.</p><p>Legolas studied the other's face with curious interest. "You know that book?" he queried, more a statement of the obvious expression he noted in Glorfindel's face. "You have seen it before."</p><p>"Yes, I spent many hours, days, applying ink to its pages." With a flash of a bittersweet smile, he handed over the leather-bound tome. "Lord Elrond had me transcribe it from the original during your last visit."</p><p>Accepting the book with both hands, Legolas carefully cradled it in his lap and hesitantly stroked the embossed cover before tightly gripping the sides with his hands. Staring down at the delicate gold-leaf paint strokes adorning the leather, he recognized the design as a battle standard, featuring a brilliant star in its center. He felt as if he should recognize the design, as if it was an image he had heard painted in song, or one of his father's tales of past ages, but at the moment he could not properly place it into its rightful context. "It is a magnificent gift," he whispered. "I have not had the time to enjoy it until now."</p><p>Surprise tinged with the hesitation of foreknowledge grew apparent in Glorfindel's manner and voice. "You do not know its contents?"</p><p>"No -- Lord Elrond made me promise not to even open its cover until I left Rivendell. I have kept my word." Hearing the unspoken depth in Glorfindel's question, he raised his eyes and met the other's gaze. "What manner of book is this?"</p><p>"It is Lord Elrond's personal account of the end of the Second Age."</p><p>Lingering in the noticeable sadness in that statement, as well as the glint of time-muted pain in the elder elf's eyes, Legolas felt the full mass of the book and its ominous contents crush his legs as well as his heart. "Those who remember first hand sing of it as a time of great pain," he reverently whispered, lowering his eyes back to the cover. "Including my father."</p><p>"It was."</p><p>Legolas squeezed shut his eyes, shuddering at the memory of the vivid accounts of his grandfather's death he had heard as a child, sitting by the fire at his father's knee. He remembered seeing in his father's face a hint of the sorrow he had spied in Elrond's heart. Yet to compare the depths of agony fleetingly glimpsed in his lover's eyes to the regret in his father's tales was as to compare the injuries of his grandfather's mutilated corpse to his own minor flesh wound. It insulted both the legacy of his father's sire and the love he felt ever growing more true for the Peredhil Lord. "I know he carries great pain within him, although he will not tell me of it in more than brief whispers," he hushedly explained. Pausing, he sincerely wondered for the first time if he truly wished to know the answer to the question which had often visited his mind. "He lost someone he held most dear, although he will not utter a name in my presence." Slowly opening his eyes, he dared a pained glance up at Glorfindel. "Will I find the answer in these pages?"</p><p>"More than merely the answer, Legolas. You will come to understand far more of Lord Elrond than just the burden of loss he carries." With a distant expression in his eyes, Glorfindel carefully sat on the edge of the bed and traced a reverent brush of his fingers across the gold etched star gracing its cover. "You will understand just how brilliant is the light you have brought to Rivendell and its master, that it could illuminate the places in his heart the Second Age made dark." Noting the delicate hint of rose color tinting the prince's cheeks, Glorfindel chuckled softly. "Even the night's deepest curtain could not hide the fire in his eyes when you are by his side," he offered in comforting explanation, "nor the joy in his heart. I have known him far longer than most, and when I tell you he has dwelt in winter for all of this age, I do not lie. Save for his much-cherished children, there has been little to bring cheer to his heart. Until now."</p><p>Legolas stared at Glorfindel, not knowing how to respond. The elder elf's words were no mere flattery -- the solemnity in the ageless ancient face made that well understood. It brought boundless delight to his heart to hear affirmation of the happiness he had hoped he had brought to the other's heart and bed. And yet, with that pleasure came an awe-inspiring responsibility. To hold someone's heart in one's hand was no small matter, especially not one so noble, so exceptional, so experienced, and yet so obviously fractured, as that of the Lord of Imladris.</p><p>Sensing it was time to leave the prince to the revelations which awaited him, Glorfindel stood up from the bed. "Read the words, Legolas, and hear his voice as you do. They may be written in my hand, but they were born of his heart. Ponder every word, from the first to the very last, and I promise your questions will find their answers." With that he turned to depart, leaving Legolas alone in the silence of his room with his tremulous hopes and countless fears.</p><p>Part 2:</p><p>The keen flame of the time-stubbed candles flickered momentarily, then recovered their steadiness, in the hours of the dawn. Through the many hours since Glorfindel's departure their light had shined upon page after page of the scribes carefully penned transcription, and with each passing hour the illumination of understanding intensified within the prince's heart and mind. At last, he came to the final page, and with it the concluding declaration of Elrond's despair. &lt;&lt;"Here ends the truthful account of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and the death of Ereinion Gil-galad, ar-nin, melethron-nin, cuil-nin, Last High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth. Faithfully transcribed in great sorrow this second year of the Third Age, by Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris."&gt;&gt;</p><p>He stared at the words, allowing the full weight of their meaning to wash over him, again and again. "Gil-galad -- 'ar-nin, melethron-nin, cuil-nin'," he whispered under his breath. "'My king, my lover, my life.' By Elbereth, how could I be so <em>blind</em>?" Cursing his unintentional insensitivity and appalling lack of insight, he carefully closed the volume and rested his chin upon its edge. It was as clear as the light of Earendil why Elrond had withdrawn his affection that starlit night nearly four years before. &lt;&lt;You carelessly sing of the death of the one he loved and expect to be rewarded with tender kisses of joy? You are as dense as the walls of this palace, and twice as cold. It is only by the Lady's grace that you ever found your way into his arms.&gt;&gt;</p><p>Yet, if that be the case, then why had Elrond requested so urgently that he finish his song, and sing of Gil-galad's fate anew, when they had finally tasted the pleasures of each other's flesh. &lt;&lt;"It will send the spirit back to Mandos, where he shall find peace... and so shall I."&gt;&gt; Such pain could not be borne alone, and Elrond, in his own way, had tried to share his heart, and its wounds, along with the intimacy of their flesh. &lt;&lt;Has the ghost fled for Mandos, or does an echo of it haunt him still?&gt;&gt;</p><p>Suddenly realizing that in his shock he had not clearly read the brief postscript at the very bottom of the final page, he hastily opened up the volume and poured over the inscription. &lt;&lt;"Faithfully reproduced by Glorfindel, at the request of Lord Elrond, the Year 2713 of the Third Age. May we never forget those we have lost, but equally rejoice in those we have found."&gt;&gt; Was that meaningful benediction meant for him, or for Elrond? &lt;&lt;Perhaps both of us.&gt;&gt; A hint of a hope-filled smile upturned the corners of his mouth, remembering Arwen's grateful last words upon ending their first introduction. &lt;&lt;"Thank you for bringing the light back into his face. I have missed it more than you could ever know."&gt;&gt; Hadn't Glorfindel said much the very same thing to him not too many hours before?</p><p>&lt;&lt;"Never question your ability to heal, Legolas. You have touched my heart in a way some many times your age will never master. Take that thought with you, as well as this gift."&gt;&gt; The much-missed voice echoed in his ears, pulling his heart westward, toward the sun-blessed valley and its water-kissed pathways. To see the stars again, with Elrond at his side, seemed the greatest bliss imaginable, save the sweeter still pleasures to be tasted in the passionate Lord's arms. Never had his home felt so claustrophobic, so rather much a tomb. He longed for the open archways of Imladris, the endless library, the comforting constant burble of the Bruinen in the background. He cursed his carelessness on the field of battle for the unwelcome delay it would necessarily cause in his much anticipated return to the hidden valley, and its Lord's enticing embrace.</p><p>The sound of a throat clearing softly caught Legolas' attention. Turning his eyes toward the doorway, he found Glorfindel standing tentatively just inside the entrance.</p><p>"You have finished your reading," the elder elf softly surmised, noting that the prince's fingers still lay on the page just beneath his inscription. "I hope you read every word."</p><p>"<em>Every</em> word, especially yours," Legolas firmly noted, carefully closing the book and setting it down beside him. "Is it time to redress my wound?"</p><p>Glorfindel nodded, walking over to his patient and setting his bowl of medicine upon the table. "This will not take long."</p><p>Pushing aside the bedcovers, Legolas rolled over onto his side, ignoring the spikes of pain in his leg. "Take all the time you require. Do what you must, so long as I am fit to travel before the spring returns to Imladris...."</p>
<hr/><p>After completing his skilled ministrations, Glorfindel helped Legolas return to a position of rest and comfort. "The wound is clean, and the healing has already begun. You will have a scar, but with time it will fade." Flashing a smile of encouragement at the prince, he gestured to the book which still lay by Legolas' side. "Do you wish for me to return it to the chest?"</p><p>"Not just yet. I... I may wish to reread parts of it."</p><p>"As you wish. Is there anything else you require?"</p><p>Legolas shook his head and smiled warmly at the elder elf. "You have done enough. What follows is in my hands."</p><p>Flashing a hint of a smile of understanding, Glorfindel nodded slowly. "So it is. Take some rest, and allow your body the strength to heal." He turned to leave, but a question called out to him</p><p>"They all fade, eventually, do they not?"</p><p>The elder elf glanced over his shoulder at the prince's hope-filled expression. "Scars? Yes. Both those without, and those within. All that is required is the proper medicine, and the passage of time." Pausing, Glorfindel pondered all that had transpired. "Even if a hint of the scar remains, so long as the pain has been wiped away, the wound is truly healed. I believe it might serve us well to keep something of our scars. They remind us of our ability to suffer agonizing pain, yet survive, and become whole, once more. If there was no chance for injury, then we would not know the joy of healing another. Without the chill of winter, how would we know to appreciate the warmth of spring?" Amused at his poetic waxings, Glorfindel flashed a brief smile and turned to depart. "Dream of spring in Imladris, Legolas. Both you, and its Lord, have tasted enough of winter."</p><p>Relaxing into his pillows with a breathless sigh of love-filled anticipation, Legolas eagerly did as Glorfindel suggested, hoping his ever-sweet remembrances of glorious nights in Elrond's arms would fill his body with the strength required to make those dreams reality before long.</p><p>Part 3:</p><p>Legolas rested his battle wearied flesh and his uncertainty plagued mind for the remainder of the day, interrupting his wakeful dreams only to take food, and to receive a visit from his father. Shortly after sunset Glorfindel returned to change his dressing and bring him bittersweet news.</p><p>"I am leaving for Rivendell in the morning. You father's healers are well prepared to see to your wound's progress. My companions are eager to return home, as am I. I hope you do not feel we insult your father's offer of continued hospitality."</p><p>Shifting his weight to help Glorfindel adjust him back into the pillows, Legolas smiled sadly. "No, Glorfindel. I understand, more than you know. I only wish I were well enough to travel with you."</p><p>Such regret in those words, such longing. Glorfindel snugged the blankets around the prince's legs as would a doting parent. "As I have said, you will be, in time to see the spring return to Imladris," he promised sincerely.</p><p>With a purse of his lips, Legolas stared off into the distance, a great veil of sadness curtaining across his face. "It seems so distant now."</p><p>"Rivendell, or the spring?"</p><p>"Both." Mirkwood's young prince seemed lost in a private daydream, sweetness and sorrow both reflected in his eyes at the very same time.</p><p>Sensing Legolas required privacy and silence to enjoy his memories of Imladris' delights, Glorfindel affectionately patted the prince's shoulder and stepped back toward the doorway. "Can I do any more for you this evening?"</p><p>Legolas suddenly returned to the present, a hopeful smile unfurling across his lips. "On my dressing table, there is a small chest. Bring it to me."</p><p>The elder elf turned around and walked over to the mirrored table, carefully picked up a miniature chest and returned to the bed with it in hand. "It is heavy -- do you have some of your father's famed hoard of treasure in here?" he teased, hefting the box in an exaggerated manner.</p><p>Shrugging, Legolas accepted the box into his lap. "A few trinkets and baubles he believed I would appreciate, as well as some remembrances of my mother and sister."</p><p>"I did not know you had a sister. Your father and brother have not spoken of her in my presence."</p><p>"My father forbids it," Legolas sadly whispered, laying his hands protectively over the top of the jewel encrusted chest. "His pain runs too deep, even after nearly two centuries."</p><p>"I feel your sorrow, Legolas," Glorfindel softly replied. "Losing one's family is among the greatest pains fate can decree."</p><p>The prince trained his eyes firmly upon the domed lid of the chest, as if either trying to burn a memory into the box, or extract a memory from its interior. "I do not remember either of them well -- a few fleeting moments, or sometimes slightly more in my dreams."</p><p>Glorfindel flashed a sympathetic smile of understanding. "You feel the need to remember them more clearly this night?"</p><p>"Perhaps." Lost in his own thoughts, Legolas stared into space once more, beyond his bed, beyond the confining, cold stone walls of the cavern carved palace. "You will return to say farewell in the morning, will you not?"</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Legolas slowly nodded, a haunted smile interlacing longing and expectation upon his lips. "Good. I will have a message for you to take back to Lord Elrond."</p><p>"Then I will see to it that he receives it."</p><p>With a slight hint of a bow, Glorfindel turned to leave, Legolas watching his departure with doubt-darkened eyes. "Now I must decide what exactly my message will be," he softly muttered under his breath.</p><p>Closing his eyes, Legolas swallowed the stone of memories from his throat and carefully unlatched the chest. Opening the lid, he gazed upon the collected tangibles of his younger years for the first time in almost a century. He first took out a gold fillet, which claimed far too much space, decorated with copper leaves purposefully tarnished to give them the hue of the forest greenery. It had been a gift from his father upon coming of age, and he had worn it only a handful of times in all the years since. It somehow confined him, bound him to an office he did not feel comfortable holding. His much elder brother was the heir to the throne, and took great relish in that role. Legolas had always been the free spirited one, truly a child of the forest. "This one is too much like his sister," he had heard his father's ministers whisper when they thought he could not hear. He had never understood why it sounded like an insult to his ears.</p><p>With a weighty sigh of lost innocence, he returned his attention to the task at hand, carefully digging through the contents of the long neglected box. The totems and tokens of childish delights and pride came to light, each bringing a smile of remembrance to his lips. Smooth, multicolored stones found at the bottom of the great river, a perfect acorn he had insisted be coated in gold to preserve it for all time, and the tail from his very first arrow shot in an orc hunt, its head still buried somewhere in the tallest oak in the forest. He smiled at the thought that both his aim and his confidence had mightily improved since those tender years. &lt;&lt;Mind the confidence, unless you wish to have more holes pierced into you.&gt;&gt;</p><p>Cursing his current state of infirmity, he rummaged on through the contents, vainly looking for something which could even hope to come close to conveying his deep affection for Elrond, and pay respect to the exalted gift he had received by the return of one in kind.</p><p>There, finally, at the very bottom of the chest, carefully hidden under items no one but a child would think of importance, Legolas found the answer to his quest. With an awed, silent parting of his lips, he reverently extricated the delicate silver object. Cradling it in one hand, he hesitantly turned it over to examine more closely, a smile born of the piercing clarity of a memory time could not rob from him blessing his face. It had belonged to his mother -- a small thing, of little intrinsic value. Legolas seemed to recall that she had not shared the idle pleasures of gold and gems with his father, instead delighting in the simple pleasures of the forest and the stars. She had taught him his first lessons in their stories, as well as the names of all the birds of the forest, encouraging him to mimic their calls, much to the unimpressed grumbling of his father.</p><p>Curling his fingers around the treasured bit of silver, he raised his hand to his chest and held it to his heart. He had guilty stolen this from his mother's dressing table the day she had died, sneaking into his parents' chambers while the adults occupied themselves with funeral preparations. In his childish innocence he had believed if he held on to such a personal and much loved object, that she would eventually return for it, even from the Houses of Mandos, themselves. He was merely keeping it safe, until she returned to claim it. He didn't remember when exactly he had given up that vain hope -- perhaps part of him never had. It had once been his most cherished possession. Now, that honor had strangely changed in an instant of time to the book still laying beside him, now hidden beneath his covers where he had hurriedly stashed the volume during his father's unannounced audience.</p><p>Legolas opened his hand and stared down at his purloined prize. It was the most dear thing he had to offer, yet it would seem so little, so insignificant, without the proper explanation. Hesitating, he realized there was no way he could convey its true value other than in person, but that would mean Glorfindel would return to Imladris bearing nothing but his woefully inadequate words. A flash of inspired connectivity seared away his doubts and returned the smile to his face. He remembered a conversation he had shared with Elrond, precipitated by Arwen's sound teasing of them both the morning after they had enjoyed each other's flesh for the very first time. "Yes, he will make <em>some</em> meaning of this," he happily whispered, returning the other miscellaneous contents to the chest before closing and securing it. &lt;&lt;The <em>full</em> meaning can await my return to his arms.&gt;&gt;</p><p>Quickly tucking his intended gift safely beneath the blankets, he called out for the aide patiently stationed just outside his quarters. His gift required a proper wrapping, and an introduction....</p><p>Part 4:</p><p>After examining and dressing Legolas' wound for the final time, Glorfindel helped the prince readjust into a position of comfort, a smile of satisfaction upon his lips. "Your eagerness to return to Rivendell seems to be speeding your recovery. If you continue to rest as you are told and do not risk reopening the wound until it is fully healed, you will arrive at the Bruinen well before the leaves unfurl."</p><p>"That would greatly gladden my heart," Legolas cheerfully replied, a brilliant smile upon his lips. "But until I return, I have something for Lord Elrond." Reaching beneath his blankets, he pulled out a small, well-worn deerskin pouch. "It does not appear to be much, but do not judge the contents by their wrapping," he warned, handing over the hand-sized item. "It is worth more to me than you know."</p><p>"Then I will treat it as a part of myself." Tucking the pouch safely inside his shirt, close to his body, Glorfindel raised a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. "May the stars smile upon you until you again grace Rivendell with your presence."</p><p>"Safe and swift travels, Glorfindel." Legolas paused, a hint of a smirk tucking at the corners of his lips. "Be sure to report that I am now in good health before you tell him of 'this'," he warned, gesturing to his leg. "If you do not, he may not hear you clearly when you say I am in no danger."</p><p>Raising an eyebrow, Glorfindel nodded slowly. "You indeed know him better than your brief time at Imladris would suggest. I will be certain to allay his fears, as best I can. But only the sight of you on his doorstep will calm <em>all</em> his concerns."</p><p>"As soon as I am able," Legolas solemnly swore.</p>
<hr/><p>The road home through Mirkwood proved serene and mercifully uneventful, and Glorfindel and company swiftly returned to the cascade-curtained valley. Notified by the sentries of the war party's arrival home, Elrond and his subjects met the soldiers at the main bridge with joyous song and open embraces. Glorfindel swiftly and succinctly delivered the news of Mirkwood's success in routing the orcs, and the lack of serious injury to any of Rivendell's force, or Thranduil's family. That latter bit of news instantly smoothed the deep creases of dread from Elrond's brow.</p><p>"He bade me give you this," Glorfindel privately whispered to Elrond, sliding the leather pouch discretely into the Lord's hand.</p><p>With an arched eyebrow, Elrond silently slid the bag into a pocket in his robe and dispensed with the formalities of welcoming his warriors home as swiftly as decorum would allow.</p>
<hr/><p>Safely secreted away in the solitude of his bedchamber, Elrond withdrew the mysterious package from his pocket. It weighed far too little and was contained in a parcel far too small to make it anything of obvious consequence. That both worried and delighted Elrond. &lt;&lt;He should not think he need give me gifts as cumbersome as my journal.&gt;&gt; And yet, he was absolutely certain that whatever was contained within this pouch was of immense value to the golden prince. Such was the beauty of his heart -- to give of himself without boundaries, and without expectations.</p><p>His fingers nearly trembling with anticipation, Elrond deftly untied the knot in the pouch's thong ties and reached inside, instantly finding a small piece of folded parchment. With held breath he unfolded the note, the pouch still clutched tightly in one hand. The elegance of the script as well as the beauty of the carefully chosen words wisked the very breath from his lips. He read them silently, then had no choice but to give them audible articulation. The sound of his spoken words intertwined with the other's voice echoing in his head in a way he so longed to feel their bodies joined in his bed.</p><p>"Ithilas -- celu-nin, melethron-nin, aerlinn-nin. The green leaves will return to the trees of Imladris before long, and I shall be among them. Until then, here is something to brush your hair from your face, when my fingers cannot."</p><p>With a thrilling thrum of delight and boundless adoration rolling through him, Elrond smiled broadly. He smiled not only at the promise of Legolas' swift return, but also the obvious affection in the message, and the clever yet reverent turnabout of his own journal's postscript. &lt;&lt;'My spring, my lover, my song.' He would claim I am all these things to him, yet he is the very same, and more, to me.&gt;&gt; Carefully setting aside the note for repeated future rereading, he slid two fingers into the leather pouch and extracted the remaining contents. A petite, slender bundle emerged into the light, carefully wrapped in a tattered piece of silver colored material. Recognizing it as the very same hue and texture as the shirt he had last seen the prince wear upon departing from Imladris, he raised the fabric to his nose and closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. Memories sweeter than the honey of Lothlorien flooded through him, borne on the instantly recognized scent of long-missed flesh.</p><p>Lingering in the fragrance flamed sensations of vivid memory coursing through his body, Elrond finally opened his eyes and carefully unwound the cloth. There, hidden in its center, he found the gift of which Legolas had written. It was a silver clasp, barely large enough to secure the single ornamental braid Elrond usually wore down the back of his hair. Turning the carefully crafted fastening over in his fingers, he smiled at the design. Only Legolas would believe a butterfly to be appropriate for the Lord of Rivendell to wear in his hair. But then, none other knew him so well, nor loved him so dearly, it seemed. With a bittersweet sigh of contentment fused with ever deepening longing, he removed the barrette he wore in his hair and cast it aside, then affixed the much appreciated gift around the top of his braid. &lt;&lt;There, let anyone make laughter about this behind my back, for I care not. They have never had the joy of being loved by a creature of such beauty.&gt;&gt;</p><p>A sly demi-smile of understanding brushed his lips, the memory of a conversation replaying in his mind. &lt;&lt;"Did Arwen refer to me as a butterfly?"&gt;&gt; Legolas had been so confused by Arwen's comment, and had somehow managed to drag out from Elrond the meaning behind the private joke between father and daughter. &lt;&lt;Not <em>somehow</em> -- with kisses not even a troll could resist. This one does <em>not</em> fight fair.&gt;&gt; The smile deepened on his face, its warmth radiating throughout his flesh, and settling in his heart. "Perhaps I will need to 'take him over my knee,' as the humans say, and teach him to respect his elders," he softly murmured under his breath. Perhaps, or, more likely, he would continue to cherish every bit of brashness, each exquisite hint of innocence, and bask in the radiant splendor of his very own golden star.</p><p>The End</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The damned silver colored barrette Elrond wore on the back of his head in the Council scene has been the topic of considerable debate. Consensus seems to be forming on a butterfly (at least among the people I've bugged to look at the picture -- no pun intended.) If this turns out to be later proven wrong, so be it. It won't change the story, it just mean that he's not wearing Legolas' gift in that scene. I'll have to deal with sullen muses, but they'll get over it . I really liked the symbolism of the butterfly, the beautiful, delicate creature that emerges from its chrysalis after metamorphosing from the lowly caterpillar. It seemed appropriate.</p><p>Here's a screen capture of it: http://www.angelfire.com/wizard/faela/rivbarette.jpg</p><p>Thranduil, son of Oropher and father of Legolas, was the Elf King of "The Hobbit." His palace was described in Chapter 8:<br/>"In a great cave some miles within the edge of Mirkwood on its eastern side there lived at this time their greatest king. Before his huge doors of stone a river ran out of the heights of the forest and flowed on and out into the marshes at the feet of the high wooded lands. This great cave, from which countless smaller ones opened out on every side, wound far underground and had many passages and wide halls; but it was lighter and more wholesome than any goblin-dwelling, and neither so deep nor so dangerous. In fact the subjects of the king mostly lived and hunted in the open woods, and had house or huts on the ground and in the branches. The beeches were their favorite trees. The king's cave was his palace, and the strong place of his treasure, and the fortress if his people against their enemies."</p><p>*In keeping with Michael Martinez's scholarly discussion of Legolas' apparent age in canon (http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/36517), I have placed him as being relatively young at the time of the Ring War.</p><p>My source for Sindarin is, as always, http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/</p><p>Refer back to "When Dream and Day Unite" for the butterfly reference: http://www.astrochick.com/wdadu.html</p><p>The only note in canon about Legolas' family is that his father was Thranduil, son of Oropher. Martinez makes a strong case in the above mentioned article that Legolas was the younger son of Thranduil and not the "crown prince," as it were. I have fleshed out Legolas' family here, and will continue to paint the details in the next story.</p><p>One final note -- I know that the quote I used mentions "human hearts," but since Elrond is half-human, it still fits in a strange sense .</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>